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<title>Heal My Scars by Punk_Peter_Pan</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24733603">Heal My Scars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Peter_Pan/pseuds/Punk_Peter_Pan'>Punk_Peter_Pan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Soft boyfriends getting high, TW: Mentions of Self Harm, baby ficlet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:02:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24733603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Peter_Pan/pseuds/Punk_Peter_Pan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Travis McCoy/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heal My Scars</h2></a>
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    <p>They sit in his bathroom in his apartment in New York. It is cold. Really fucking cold. So cold that snow gathers on the windowsills and the edges of their breaths when they were walking in. Hot water sloshes at the edges of the tub. It’s warming Peter up, slowly enough. Travis sits behind him with a chin on his shoulder. He is just touching, for now. Running his long tattooed fingers over the remains of worse days than this that litter Pete’s arms, his thighs. His mind. Travis pets every inch of his arms and Pete forgets, for a moment, the noise and the demons and the hate. Travie is humming. It’s one of Pete’s songs. Something that Pete wrote but couldn’t find the confidence to share with the world. Patrick and Travis were enough. Travis let’s go of one of Pete’s wrists to reach to the side, to take his blunt between his fingers and blow curls and whispers of smoke over Pete’s shoulder. He hands it to Pete, and Pete watches the smoke and the air introduce themselves, then fade into one. They finish it in silence and Travis drops it into their bin, before taking Pete’s wrists again, circling his thumbs until Pete’s skin is buzzing and he’s dropping his head onto Travie’s shoulder. Pete closes his eyes and trusts that if he cries or shivers or worse, falls asleep, that Travie will protect him. Travis reaches for something but Pete’s eyes are closed. He can feel Travie’s fingers returning with something smooth, rich and buttery that Travis spreads and massages into his arms, his skin, his scars. One arm, then the next. <br/>Pete realises, sitting in his clawfoot porcelain bathtub with his boyfriend rolling cream into his skin that maybe, he might be okay. <br/>That the world has given him a chance. <br/>And Pete has finally taken it.</p>
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